


Choices

by TumbleTree



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Father-Son Relationship, Insecure Peter Parker, Insecure Tony Stark, Peter Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 17:18:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15151943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TumbleTree/pseuds/TumbleTree
Summary: Every time he’d tried to visit the compound, Mr. Stark would get this haunted look in his eyes, like he couldn’t help but seethat moment.Peter figured it’d just be easier for the both of them if he just- stopped coming around.





	Choices

**Author's Note:**

> First Peter and Tony fic on here so please be gentle with it! It’s been two months and I’m still not over it. Probably won’t ever be :(. Lemme know what you think!

_“I’m not ready.”_

Tony never understood why people said they felt numb. Or why a person’s hand would tremble after a traumatic experience. But after all the things he’s seen, all the battles he fought and the people he’s lost -- Tony can appreciate the saying. He understands that it’s a polite way of saying, ‘I’m terrified and about five seconds away from losing my shit.’ Tony understands why Steve never talks about the war or what really went wrong between them. Because he sure as hell doesn’t believe the Accords were the only reason they split, that had just been the catalyst to a long line of arguments.

It really wasn’t until he was sitting by himself, besides the blue alien, with no Strange, no infinity stone or gauntlet, and _no Peter._ That Tony truly understood the meaning of feeling numb. He sat there, on the weather worn steps, his hands pressed to his mouth and the _not dirt_ smudged across his hand and fingers like ink. Tony wished Thanos had cut off his left hand instead of leaving him a through and through knife wound. It would’ve hurt less.

He didn’t know how long they sat there, not talking, just staring off into the distance. Tony had to continuously remind himself that it wasn’t a dream. That he was in space and that he was alone with a blue robot-half-alien hybrid, who had talked to Thanos as if she _knew_ him. He almost didn’t want to pick at what was clearly a still open wound, but then Peter’s young terrified eyes flitted across his own exhausted and bloodshot ones. And that almost disappeared like Peter did.

But when he glanced over at her, Tony could see the slight tremble in her lips and the wetness in her eyes. The words _“where is she”_ echoing between them, on the desolate planet and Tony realized there was no point in arguing when she had lost someone too. He was too tired to even breathe, let alone argue with an alien who looked like she could bench press him, on top of trying to figure out how the hell to get off this wasteland of a planet.

* * *

_“If anything, it’s kinda your fault that I’m here.”_

When Peter came back, he was hoping everything would go back to normal. He was hoping Mr. Stark would be his usual self; filled with sarcasm and sleep deprivation. Only one of those things were the same. He tried not to think of why that was.

Instead, he started to try and forget. He started going out on more patrols, avoiding Aunt May and Mr. Stark. The last because every time he’d tried to visit the compound, Mr. Stark would get this haunted look in his eyes, like he couldn’t help but see _that moment._

Peter figured it’d just be easier for the both of them if he just- stopped coming around.

Which was when the nightly patrols started occurring. At first it was just until midnight, like Aunt May told him. But then it moved onto spending an hour- two hours- _four hours_ past curfew; and got to the point where he stopped coming home. He knew he was making May worry, but he just didn’t want to go home sometimes and it was easier for him not to care what she would think or what Mr. Stark would think when he was saving people.

Ned noticed when Peter started cutting classes or falling asleep in science and tried to say something about it, but Peter didn’t want to listen to his friend ramble on about PTSD and that he died. He was there and had felt it. Peter didn’t think he would ever forget the feeling of excruciating pain, Mr. Stark’s tear streaked and dirt riddled face or the way it had felt to be held for just a second before- _nothing._

Then MJ noticed and maybe that wasn’t so weird since she knew he quit marching band and practically followed him everywhere. Bathroom included. He didn’t want to think of why she was being so vigilant compared to _before._ He didn’t want to think if he could help it.

So when he got in late or early, depending on how you looked at it, Peter just wanted to eat something and then go to sleep for the three hours he had before heading to school. Instead he came home to a strange and surprising sight of the lights on.

With an air of caution, Peter went to his bedroom window and slid it open, crawling along the ceiling before dropping down behind his door. He was prepared for an intruder or Aunt May waiting up, finally done with his late night escapades. What he wasn’t prepared for was Mr. Stark sitting in the living room, Aunt May in the lone arm chair. They were talking, about _him._

“I don’t know what’s got into him,” Aunt May whispered. As if afraid admitting his shortcomings will suddenly be admitting defeat. From where he hid in his doorway, Peter could see Mr. Stark gently take hold of her hand. A strange look Peter couldn’t name, flitting across his tired features. He didn’t move, didn’t dare to even breathe in fear that they would hear him.

“Look May,” Mr. Stark finally spoke. “Peter is a good kid. I think-” he took a deep breath, “it’s my fault. He was never like this until...until we went up.” He gripped May’s hand a little tighter when it looked like she was about to pull away, the word _up_ coming out of his mouth like word vomit. Aunt May didn't say anything for a moment, making Peter's hands clench and sweat to start build at the back of his neck. Finally, with a heavy sigh, May shook her head causing a few strands to fall from her bun.

Slowly, as if reluctant, May pulled her grip from Mr. Stark’s and moved to stand. Peter decided that enough was enough. He didn't like being ignored for months, only to have his mentor and the man he thought of as a father-figure, go behind his back like this and blame _himself_ for Peter’s choices.

Without much fanfare, and still in his Spider-man suit, Peter pushed his door open with enough force to cause a crack to form where the handle hit plaster. He yanked his mask off and threw it at Mr. Stark, who seemed surprised at his presence. May just looked relieved.

“How could you say that?” He didn't yell, not really. His voice did raise a slight octave higher, but he didn't yell. He didn't want to look more like a kid then he already did. The effort seemed futile, as Mr. Stark just stared back tired and with haunted eyes. Like he didn't have the time to be annoyed. Peter felt his anger only rise and a wetness start to form in the corners of his eyes. He silently prayed they stayed where they were until he was in the safety of his room.

“I made my choice.” Peter started, from the corner of his eye Peter could see Aunt May holding her stomach, like she was about to be sick. “ _I_ did, not you. You told me to go home and I didn’t listen.” Mr. Stark looked lost, as if the wind had been taken out of his sails, “I’m sorry I didn’t listen. But...” his voice cracked, making a flush rise on his pale cheeks. “I wouldn’t change it for the world and I don’t want you taking the blame for my choice.”

Peter’s face felt hot and his eyes equally so. May looked pale and sad, but when he focused in on her eyes, Peter could see a hint of pride peaking out. She always was telling him to make his own choices and to own them if they didn’t come out the way he wanted. Mr. Stark looked a sickly yellow, like his little speech had no affect on him.

With a huff, Peter made his way to Mr. Stark’s side. He knelt down beside the couch and grabbed his hand, making him look up with surprise, the first real emotion he’d shown all day. “ _Please,_ Mr. Stark,” he waited until they made eye contact. “I don’t blame you.”

Another too long silence. Then, like glass shattering against stone, Mr. Stark sighed. “You know who you sound like?” He gripped the back of Peter’s neck with warm hand, Peter tilted his head in a silent question. “You sound like Cap,” he grinned a tired grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes. Peter would take it.

Suddenly, Peter released a long and loud yawn that had his jaw cracking and practically unhinging. Tony snorted and gave his neck a squeeze before releasing him, the silent _go to bed_ passing between them. Peter gave a tired nod and made his way back to his room, quickly stopping to give May a kiss on the cheek and a whispered apology. Just as his hand touched his doorknob, Mr. Stark called his name.

Peter turned around just in time to catch his mask, he gave Mr. Stark a sharp glance which quickly lost its heat at the warm and soft look he was sure Mr. Stark didn’t mean to show. “I trust you kid. Don’t doubt that.” Peter felt a wide grin stretch across his face and quickly rushed back to throw his arms around a surprised Mr. Stark and just as quickly released him, calling a quick goodnight before heading to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want more come check me out on Tumblr at: [TumbleTree](https://thebumblebeetumbletree.tumblr.com/) where you can submit prompts or just come hang out!
> 
> Comments and Kudos are appreciated!!


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